


Switched

by LadyMiya, NerysDax



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-03
Updated: 2012-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-09 02:27:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMiya/pseuds/LadyMiya, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerysDax/pseuds/NerysDax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waking up at a place you don't recognise is bad enough. Waking up in a body you don't recognise is far worse.</p><p> </p><p>  <a href="http://s1235.photobucket.com/albums/ff438/daxodokira/?action=view&current=Aw6TDsfCAAEWxzb.png"></a><br/><img/></p><p>Both banners are made by the lovely QueenV from the GC Tomione Convention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Switched

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tomione_Forum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tomione_Forum/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
> 
>  **A/N:** Co-written by Lady Miya and NerysDax as a thank you gift for the fic exchange challenge participants at the Tomione forum. Miya started this ages ago, inspired by the Polylove Challenge at WIKTT. It does not follow any of the guidelines since that was a Snapione challenge, but it was still inspired by some of the fics written to that challenge. NerysDax hereby solemnly swears that she doesn’t have anything to do with all that Snapione business. ;)
> 
> This story takes place after HBP, disregarding DH. 
> 
>  
> 
>   
> _With thanks to our beta Serpent In Red._  
> 

[](http://s1235.photobucket.com/albums/ff438/daxodokira/?action=view&current=switch10.jpg)

  
  


**Switched**  
  
The room was cold and dark. No light managed to get through the walls of stone, and there was no fire in the room. Hermione didn’t know how she had got here. Last night, she had gone to sleep in the room she shared with Ginny. Was this a prank? Had George and Fred decided to have some fun with her? Then why couldn’t she move her arms or legs?  
  
She tried to break free but found that she could only wiggle her arms a tiny bit, just enough to not get cramps but not enough to get loose. Did her arms feel longer than usual, too? What had they done to her? The more aware she became, the less she thought that it was just a stupid prank of the Weasley twins.  
  
These were dangerous times. There was a war going on. Had they got to her? Yes … they must have. Her friends wouldn’t lock her inside a dark room. They knew she didn’t like the dark. Not since that time she had got locked inside that closet by mistake and it had taken her mother almost an hour to find her.  
  
She felt panic rise in her chest. What happened to the others? Why hadn’t she noticed anything? Or maybe she just couldn’t remember? Had she hit her head? It didn’t feel like it; there was no pain. Oh Merlin, what would they do to her? Perhaps it would be better to be silent and not let them know she was awake. She had heard how they liked to torture girls like her. She didn’t want to be tortured. It was bad enough that she had her period and the cramps were ...  
  
Wait. Why couldn’t she feel her stomach cramps? She always got horrible cramps during her period, and it had started just the night before. Madam Pomfrey had told her that there wasn’t much to do about it than take a pain-relieving potion during the times when it was at its worst. Normally, it was a bit easier in the morning, before she had been up and moving about, but she always felt it a little. Now, she felt nothing at all.  
  
Had they done something to her stomach?  
  
Now she realised she didn’t feel any pain at all. If she’d been attacked, shouldn’t there be wounds? Had they healed her? What on earth was going on?  
  
Even though it was dark and she was bound, she was quite comfortable, lying on a soft mattress with silk sheets and a warm blanket. Why would they care about such things? A cold, hard dungeon floor seemed more their style.  
  
Also, that mosquito sting she had got the other day wasn’t itching anymore. She had almost scratched the skin away on her arm because of it. And it wasn’t just that. She couldn’t feel her crazy hair, too. Shouldn’t some of it lie over her face as usual? It always did. Her hair always got in the way when she was writing or reading and it was always falling into her mouth when she was sleeping. But not now.  
  
She took a deep breath and felt another thing, or rather, didn’t feel. Her breasts were gone. Her chest was too light. What had happened to her?  
  
“Hello?” she whispered tentatively.  
  
Her eyes widened in shock.  _That_  wasn’t her voice. Her voice didn’t sound so high and cold. Something wasn’t right. She started to fight against the bounds more adamantly, but they wouldn’t move. She started to scream, but all she heard was a cold, high-pitched cry.  
  
Then the room was lit by a fire. She stopped to fight when she saw a huge serpent lying at the end of the four-poster she was apparently lying on. Green curtains were tied to the posts with silver-coloured ropes. How mighty original, Hermione couldn’t help but snidely think.  
  
Then, the snake uncoiled, moving its head towards her and she wished she could just Disapparate right now. The memory of Arthur Weasley’s horrible wounds was still fresh in her mind and her previous shock turned to outright fear. Maybe they’d turned her into something more appetizing for the snake, and that’s why she felt so weird? She was snake food!  
  
“No need to fight or fear me, Miss Granger,” a soft voice said.  
  
It seemed to have come from the snake. How could she positively understand it? She wasn’t Harry.  
  
“The Dark Lord is only borrowing your body for a couple of hours. You will have it back once he is done.”  
  
“My body, bu-but then this is …” she trailed off, horrified as realisation set in.  
  
Hermione was sure she’d just entered the twilight zone.

xxx

  
Lord Voldemort, the most powerful wizard alive (especially since Dumbledore had now died—not that the old coot had been any  _real_  competition), sat up in a small bed in a dingy room. Despite being in such a crappy and oddly sweet-smelling environment, he smiled when he looked around—the curtains weren’t drawn fully and let in enough moonlight for him to see everything quite clearly. Oh, this was good. This was very, very good. Everything had gone to perfection as all his plans always did.  
  
There was a red-haired girl sleeping in the bed next to him. He nodded. Yes, he had known he would be at the Weasleys. Apparently the Mudblood girl, whose body he had borrowed, had been sleeping next to the Weasleys’ only daughter. It made sense. Now, all he had to do was find The-Boy-Who-Lived and kill him. It should be easy enough.  
  
He absentmindedly scratched at a red rash on his arm as he checked out his new body. He would need to move as if he were used to it. It wouldn’t do if Potter or any of the Weasleys realised something was amiss. He had viewed memories of how Granger moved. Some of his followers had encountered her, but Severus and Draco’s memories had been especially useful. The Mudblood moved with slightly stiff legs and her back straight  _if_  she weren’t carrying heavy school bags filled with books around. Something told him she wouldn’t walk well in heels, if she wore them at all, which made things a lot easier for him. Her posture wouldn’t be hard to copy. Her emotions always showed on her face, though. That would be harder for him to imitate.  
  
Oh, well, he could always just say that he was tired if someone asked. He wouldn’t have to stay here long, just long enough to get the job done.  
  
Rising, he started to feel how well her body moved, or rather, how horribly it did. Her stomach hurt. That was annoying. Why didn’t she just take a potion for it? Ah, well, it wasn’t too bad. He could live with it.  
  
However, her muscles were rather stiff indeed, and he had trouble coordinating his movements. He was used to longer, far suppler legs and arms. So, he practised walking around before reaching for the girl’s wand on her nightstand. Vine, he deduced as he caressed the wood before flicking and swishing it a couple of times and noticing that his wand movements were slightly off. Why didn’t his hand listen precisely to what his brain told it to do? How did this girl get anything done with such a useless body? Worthless Mudbloods.  
  
Sighing, he wanted to pocket the wand before realising he wasn’t wearing his own robe, so he made a makeshift holster on his arm and disillusioned it. None of these Order Morons would spot that. Satisfied, he placed the wand in there and decided to take a look at himself.  
  
Stretching these new, grossly inadequate arms and legs once again, he walked up to a full figure mirror at the other end of the bedroom. Granger slept in a too big T-shirt of Muggle origin. A huge kitten was printed over the chest area. The cuteness of it made him want to vomit.  
  
He smiled at his own reflection. It looked cruel and out of place on the Mudblood’s face. He stretched the mouth and then tried smiling again. Granger smiled often but only showed her teeth a little. The trouble was that joy always shone through her eyes. He practised it a few more times before he was somewhat satisfied. He couldn’t quite capture the emotions in her eyes, but it would have to do. People were bad observers anyway, unlike him. They always attributed any changes to the most common occurrence and brushed it away instead of really seeing.  
  
He let his eyes trail down her body. She was so … tiny! Except for the hair. The hair was big, like there’d been an explosion on top of her head. Why did she bother with it? Voldemort got the urge to cut it off but decided against it. It would draw too much attention to her—to  _him_. Instead, he tied the mess back into a ponytail. She’d worn it like that sometimes, so that wouldn’t be a noticeable issue to others. He just didn’t want that stuff to suddenly fall into his face when he was killing Potter—that would just be the type of thing to save the boy, something completely insignificant and useless.  
  
Voldemort cursed as he suddenly felt nature calling. He really didn’t want to use the bathroom with a girl’s body, but it seemed like he didn’t have a choice.  
  
Well, that was a little price to pay for finally getting rid of Harry Potter. Voldemort got out from the bedroom. Now where could the bathroom be?  
  
“Morning, Hermione!” someone called behind him.  
  
He turned around, not feeling used to anyone calling at him so cheerfully. Yet, he smiled, while quickly sorting through his memory of who the boy was. It was one of the Weasley twins. Yes. He had done his homework well. Naturally.  
  
“Hi … Fred?” he guessed with the smile he had practised in front of the mirror. The voice didn’t sound quite right, though; he had to speak in another octave.  
  
“George,” the boy smirked. “One of these days, you’ll get it right. You seem kind of confused. Something wrong?”  
  
“No, no. I just woke up. And I need to use the bathroom.”  
  
George stepped to the side and made a gesture to the door next to him. “Go ahead, I was just finished.”  
  
“Thank you,” Voldemort smiled, faking thankfulness before he stepped into the bathroom.  
  
When he was doing his business, he started to feel the pain in the stomach increase to unbearable levels. Doubling over, he clutched to his belly. What for Salazar’s sake was wrong with this body? He was going to curse Severus and Draco for not informing him beforehand that the Mudblood had some kind of debilitating illness. Oh yes, he would. They’d suffer for this.  
  
Another cramp hit him, causing him to groan as he wiped the perspiration off his brow. Sweet Salazar, why wasn’t she in St. Mungo’s getting treated?  
  
He grew cold. The girl couldn’t be having her period now, could she? He hadn’t counted on that!  
  
He cursed and looked down, seeing the small, blue thread from the tampon she had in. Withdrawing it, he grimaced before vanquishing the disgustingly bloody thing. What did he do now? This pain made him want to lie back in bed and move as little as possible. Why couldn’t one of the boys have been powerful enough to fit his essence? It didn’t make any sense that the girl had almost the same strength in her magic as he did. Yet, it was necessary that she did. These body switches didn’t work unless you had a somewhat equal magical strength.  
  
Cursing to himself, he stuffed her knickers with toilet paper and then got up and washed his hands. He just had to move quickly, so he could get out of this horrible body. His aggravation rose to unbelievable levels, and he simply wanted to go on a rampage and torture everyone in sight, which he couldn’t afford to do. He clutched to the sink, trying to calm his rising temper. He was never  _this_ emotional. Women. So bloody weak.  
  
Too bad he really needed this body. Besides the power it held, there was also another reason to use the Mudblood to kill Harry Potter. The boy was the light of the world and if a Mudblood killed him, people would be angry at all Mudbloods and thereby support him and his Death Eaters. It was simple psychology.  
  
Sure, Granger’s closest friends might get suspicious and believe her, but the rest of the world …  
He laughed. Shocked, he stopped abruptly at the silly noise he was making. Not doing that again, he mentally noted.  
  
He splashed some water in his face to clear away the perspiration on his brow; the girl was looking horribly pale. That wasn’t normal, was it?  
  
Oh, he hoped they’d make her suffer afterwards. There would be no signs of the Imperius Curse and no way to prove she’d not been in control of her own body, so they would just have to see her as guilty. To switch bodies was magic ordinary people knew nothing about. No one would know it had been him.  
  
Ignoring the pain (to the best of his abilities), he got dressed (in horrible Muggle clothes), went down the creaky stairs (an accident waiting to happen) and into a small kitchen (what a pigsty). The fat female Weasley was preparing breakfast. He sneered behind her back. He had no respect for women like her. Sure, they were good at pulling out babies, but they had no real power. And power was everything.  
  
Mummy Weasley turned around. “Good morning, Hermione! Oh dear, sweetheart, you look horrible. Why don’t you sit down and let me make you something nice to eat.”  
  
Ugh … food was the last thing on his mind right now. However, he had to pretend to be normal. Did normal girls eat with these kinds of stomach pains? He recalled from his past that it varied; some stuffed themselves full with everything in sight, while others didn’t touch a thing. But to which group did Granger belong? The fact that the Weasley cow offered him food wasn’t a true clue; she probably treated food as a medicine for everything.  
  
Then, he noticed that, apparently, an answer wasn’t required of him because a giant plate filled with waffles was placed in front of his nose. He almost threw up right there and then.  
  
“I wanted to ask you to help Harry and Ron gather eggs from the henhouse, but I think you’d rather take it easy and eat something first,” Mrs Weasley said, patting her on the head.  
  
The urge to torture and kill rose again, but she’d supplied him with a perfect excuse to leave. Granger was always assisting others. Disgusting.  
  
“Not at all!” he said, getting the hell out of there as fast as he could.  
  
“Oh, such a sweetheart,” he just heard Mrs Weasley say to herself as he hurried outside.  
  
His eyes lit up when he saw the two boys just outside a small hen house. They were talking and laughing. Voldemort smirked. Time for the next step of the plan: Give a reason for Granger to want to kill The-Boy-Who-Lived.  
  
“Harry!” he called and hurried towards them.  _Merlin, running really hurt his stomach!_  
  
Harry smiled at him. “Hey, Hermione! How are you?”  
  
Voldemort smiled, threw himself at the boy and kissed him. Sure, it was disgusting as hell, but he knew this plan would work thanks to Severus Snape.  
  
Severus had been the children’s teacher for six year and had been able to tell Voldemort many interesting things. Like that Harry, Ron and Hermione were always together. Voldemort had first thought that Hermione was Harry’s girlfriend, but Severus had said that the Golden Boy’s heart had never been with the know-it-all. No, apparently, Granger and Weasley were an item.  
  
So, Voldemort’s plan was quite simple: Use the Mudblood to kill Harry Potter and make it look like an act of jealousy.  
  
“H-Hermione? What are you doing?” Harry asked when Voldemort let go of him.  
  
Voldemort eyes widened. “Harry, I love you! Surely you must know that. I don’t understand why we can’t just be honest about it, and I’m done pretending.”  
  
The words made Voldemort want to vomit, but he managed to hold up a hurt face.  
  
Harry looked very uncomfortable. “Look, Hermione, I love you, but only as a friend. You know that, right? I’m in love with Ginny.”  
  
Yes, Voldemort had known that, too. It’s what made it even more perfect.  
  
“B-but,” Voldemort stammered, taking a couple of staggered steps back as if he were shocked and hurt, “I thought, when you broke up with her, I thought you did it so we could be together!”  
  
While the redhead clenched his fists and his face turned an awful shade of purple, Harry only seemed quite confused. “No, eh, are you sure you are feeling alright?”  
  
Then, Ron snapped, “I always knew you would take her, Harry.”  
  
Harry looked at his friend. “No, Ron, I—”  
  
Voldemort managed to get some tears in his eyes; it was easier than he had thought. “But what about all those times when we were together?” he interrupted, putting oil on the flames. “And all those times when we made love in empty classrooms and secret corridors … Were you just playing me? You said you loved me!” he cried out.  
  
Ron’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. “You did what?” he snarled at Harry, clenching and unclenching his fists again.  
  
Harry looked from left to right, not knowing how to react to this surreal situation. Finally, his gaze stopped at the distressed Hermione and he asked, utterly confused, “What are you talking about, Hermione? We’ve done nothing.”  
  
“Nothing? NOTHING!” Voldemort cried out. “I gave you my virginity!”  
  
“WHAT?!” Ron yelled; he was completely beside himself. “YOU TWO HAVE BEEN TOGETHER ALL YEAR!”  
  
Harry shook his head. “No. NO! I don’t know what she is talking about, Ron. She’s gone nuts.”  
  
The door of the kitchen opened. “What’s going on here?” Mrs Weasley asked in a stern, reprimanding tone of voice.  
  
 _More witnesses, finally._  
  
Voldemort’s shoulders shook from his fake crying, while he pulled out Hermione’s wand. “YOU SAID YOU LOVED ME!”  
  
Then, he cast a spell that would make it look like “Hermione” had just send Harry flying through the air in anger. In reality, it broke his neck before he would crash-land on the ground. To an outsider, it would look like an accident, but the result was the same as if he had used “Avada Kedavra”. Voldemort saw the life in Harry’s eyes disappear before the boy’s body struck the ground and he quickly ran out of sight, crying loudly as if he were extremely distressed about everything that had just occurred. When he was sure no one was yet following him, he took a moment to stop and smile.  
  
The Boy-Who-Lived was finally dead.  
  
Then, he Disapparated, making it seem like Granger had run.

xxx

  
Hermione Granger stared at the snake that was starting to slither up over the bed. Lord Voldemort had a snake; she knew that. It was named Nagini, one of his Horcruxes. Could this be her?  
  
Merlin’s pants, she was inside Lord Voldemort’s body!  
  
 _Someone please pinch me now._  
  
This had to be a nightmare. How could the Dark Lord possibly be borrowing her body? And what would he be doing with it?  
  
Eww ... she would have to take many, many showers when she got it back. She would get it back, wouldn’t she? Oh Godric, she was inside his body. Eww, eww, eww!  
  
She needed to think, keep it together and get some bloody answers.    
  
“What are you talking about?” she asked in that too high and cold voice.  
  
The snake seemed to smirk at her. “The Dark Lord has granted you a great gift. You are inside his body, keeping it warm and alive while he is inside yours.”  
  
“What?”  _Alive? So, if I get out, it will kill him?_  
  
Still, this had to be a nightmare. She couldn’t be inside Voldemort’s body. It simply wasn’t possible. No such spell existed, especially not over a distance. She was sure of it. She read every book on the subject in her second year before deciding they had to go with the Polyjuice Potion.  
  
Yet, as she looked down at the body she inhabited, she knew it wasn’t hers. Her body had never been so thin and long. She had never worn robes with this texture. And she sure as hell had never been able to talk to a snake before.  
  
“Voldemort has exchanged his body for mine,” she said slowly in disbelief, blinking at the weirdness of that. “He took a Mudblood’s body?!”  
  
Hermione snorted before she started to giggle. It sounded odd in that shrill voice of his.  
  
“Yours was the only one compatible,” Nagini replied smoothly.  
  
That sobered her up. She didn’t want to be compatible to  _him_.  
  
“So, if I’m in this body, why can I understand you? Oh, wait, it’s because my mind is using his, essentially, and Parseltongue is a biological ability, not a learned one. So, he won’t be able to speak to snakes right now. Hmm...” She wondered what else there was and if anything could be of use to her.  
  
“You are intelligent for a Mudblood. But he will be back soon, and then, you will have your body back and may return to your friends.”  
  
“That’s it?”  _Suuuure._  
  
“Yes,” the snake replied. “I can feel it now. My master is happy. So very happy. It has worked. You can return to your friends soon, Hermione Granger. And then, you will go to Azkaban for the murder of Harry Potter.”  
  
Voldemort’s slit pupils widened. “Murder? But I haven’t—” Then, she understood. What other reason would Voldemort have to change bodies with her? “No …” she whispered.  
  
“Yes. And everyone will think you killed him,” Nagini taunted.  
  
Hermione thought she would be crying or be more upset, but no tears came. Somewhere deep down she figured she couldn’t cry while she was in Voldemort’s body because he couldn’t cry. She also figured that because his brain wasn’t capable of normal emotions, it dimmed the blow of Harry’s death for her—something she was sure would hit her in full force once she were in her own body again. She had to think fast now. What to do?  
  
She didn’t get time to contemplate, though.  
  
A moment later, the door opened and she saw herself enter the room. Well, she figured it was Voldemort using her body. It was quite disturbing to see such a cold expression on her face, and she had to close her eyes. She quickly opened them again when she felt the mattress sink ever so slightly. Lord Voldemort was sitting next to her on the bed! In her body!  
  
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Hermione Granger,” he said in a feminine voice.  
  
It was so surreal. Not only the situation, but hearing herself through the ears of someone else. Did she really sound so girly?  
  
“What have you done with my body?” she spat.  
  
“With the body? Nothing at all. You’ll see for yourself in a moment. I will just read a little incantation, and then, you will have your filthy body back.”  
  
“So you have killed Harry already then?”  
  
She didn’t know why she asked. Somehow, she figured she needed the confirmation. Just hearing the snake say it didn’t make it real. Then again, Voldemort wouldn’t be changing them back if he hadn’t done what he had planned to do. That meant Harry was dead. And his murderer was sitting right in front of her.  
  
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I have. It was quite easy. Create a scene and fire a ‘harmless’ spell, so they will all think it was an accident. And now, you are wanted for murder!”  
  
He actually giggled about that. It was infuriating Hermione.  
  
“But maybe they’ll go easy on you and charge you with manslaughter? Who knows? All that matters is that I’ve won. The one person who could defeat me is dead. So, don’t you worry, Hermione Granger, I’ll soon take over this ministry. Perhaps I will pardon you for your outstanding assistance?” he suggested, smirking at her in a way she never wanted to see again on her face. “It will just take a moment to switch bodies; then, you can be on your way home, or rather, Azkaban.”  
  
Another eerie laugh—that was so unlike hers—left her mouth. It made Hermione shiver at the creepiness of it. She studied him in silence, realising that she should be a lot more upset about all of this than she was. She had the feeling that being in Voldemort’s body, which wasn’t used to reacting to certain emotions, somehow dampened her own. Therefore, a huge part of her mind kept its cool and planned revenge. If there were one thing that Hermione Jean Granger never allowed to go unpunished, it was other people hurting her friends or those she cared about.  
  
When Draco Malfoy had spoken ill about Hagrid, she had punched him. When Marietta Edgecombe had betrayed them all, Hermione had made sure everyone would see her for what she really was. And when she finally got an opportunity to take revenge on Umbridge after everything that horrible bitch had done …  
  
Well, let’s just say Umbridge would have nightmares for a long time about those centaurs.  
  
Yes, Hermione Granger knew how to get even with people. And in this body, her plans grew even more wicked than she was used to. Or maybe that was because of the rage she felt. Either way, Voldemort would be very sorry he had used her for his scheme.  
  
“Oh, don’t give me that look, Mudblood,” Voldemort said, smiling broadly. “You’ll get your useless body back now. With all its disgusting itches and cramps.”  
  
He stroked Nagini, and the serpent let out a satisfied hiss before slithering to the floor. Hermione would never have dared to touch a serpent voluntarily like that. It looked incredibly strange to see “herself” do it.  
  
Voldemort withdrew his (no, wait, that was hers!) wand. With a flick of his wrist, he summoned his own from the stately cabinet and pocketed hers again.  
  
Right hand pocket, Hermione noted.  
  
Concentrating, he began to cast a spell. Hermione felt the spell attack her, wanting to rip her out of the body she was in, but she fought it. She wasn’t sure how she did it; all she knew was that she wouldn’t let him get this body back. No sir. She would make his life a living hell, and she knew he wouldn’t do anything bad to her while she was in his own body.  
  
The look on Voldemort’s face when he realised the spell hadn’t worked was amusing. Hermione had never seen her face turn that shade of red before.  
  
“You dare—”  
  
“You just ruined my life,” Hermione spat in anger. “I don’t think I’ll leave this body until I’ve returned the favour.”  
  
Voldemort looked as if he were about to retort, but then, he suddenly bent forward, letting out a groan. “What are you doing to me?”  
  
Hermione smirked. “Oh, that looks like my period pain kicked in for real this time. You didn’t feel it before? What a pity.”  
  
“How do I stop it?” he hissed.  
  
“Now, why would I want to tell you that?” Hermione wondered dryly.  
  
This was actually rather amusing. Being in Voldemort’s body must really suppress her normal feelings. She should be so much sadder over that Harry had died and people thought she had done it, but it didn’t bother her so much. Instead, she was enjoying how much pain her enemy was having. Then again, she could just be in shock. Either way, she loved all these advantages that being inside of Voldemort’s body gave her. For starters, no more period pain.  
  
Voldemort, however, didn’t seem as amused. He pressed his wand against his body’s chest.  
  
“Tell me how to stop it, Mudblood, or I’ll rip your head off!” he growled.  
  
Hermione noticed she could look really scary if she wanted to.  
  
Yet, she wasn’t scared. “Rip off the head of your own body? I have a hard time believing that,” she said, amused.  
  
Voldemort seemed to realise that as well. He leaned in towards her. “How about I slowly start to dismantle yours,” he threatened coldly.  
  
Hermione shrugged. “You’re going to be the one feeling it. Go right ahead. You’ve already ruined my life completely; you think I care about what happens to my body? Think again. I’ll enjoy watching you in agonising pain that you’ll inflict on yourself. I’m sure it will be better than anything I could think of.”  
  
His face clouded, but before he could think of another way to harm her, the door barged open and five Death Eaters burst in. Their expression of joy all changed to confusion when they saw their lord and master lying bound on the bed with a girl in front of him.  
  
Hermione didn’t waste the opportunity. “Disarm her!”  
  
Voldemort snarled and turned around, wand raised. He managed to curse one of the Death Eaters before the others overpowered him. That made Nagini lash out, trying to attack.  
  
“She cursed Nagini; kill it!” Hermione ordered.  
  
One of the Death Eaters seemed more than happy to do so, while Snape picked up the Dark Lord’s wand of the floor and quickly pocketed it.  
  
“No! Get your hands off of me!” Voldemort cried when Snape hauled his bound female figure to his feet. “I’m Lord Voldemort! Remove yourselves, or I’ll—”  
  
“Gag her!” Hermione interrupted him. “I’ll not allow anyone to speak such blasphemy.”  
  
It was done instantaneously. Hermione felt she could get used to such obedience. Yet, she was surprised at how easy it all went; Lord Voldemort was an extremely powerful wizard. Surely, he should’ve been able to take his own followers?  
  
The answer struck her like a bolt of lightning. He had been casting with his own wand in her body! It must not work properly for him then. Oh, this was just perfect. And he hadn’t noticed! Well, he had noticed his spell malfunctioned on her, but his arrogance was his downfall again. Clearly, Lord Voldemort’s own wand had to be superior to hers; there was no way  _his_  wand would malfunction. She resisted the urge to giggle and kept her face blank.  
  
She was really glad that he hadn’t had time to truly consider what had happened or she was positive he would’ve come to the same conclusion as she had. _Eventually.  
_  
And then, she would’ve been screwed big time. Instead, she had come out the victor.  
  
“My Lord!” A woman Hermione recognised as Bellatrix Lestrange came up to her and undid her bindings. “Allow me to kill this Mudblood for you.”  
  
Slowly, Hermione got out of bed. It felt strange to move in another person’s body, but thankfully, she didn’t have to move a lot.  
  
“Give me back my wand,” she ordered the Death Eater who was holding “Hermione Granger”.  
  
It was Severus Snape, the man who had killed Dumbledore. He was staring at her intensely, but she couldn’t read what he was thinking. He slowly gave her Voldemort’s wand. Hermione realised she wasn’t sure how his wand would react to her casting or if she’d even be able to control the power of Lord Voldemort’s magic, but she couldn’t really go around using her own wand now. It would probably work as bad for her in this body as his wand had done for him in her body, if not worse since he was infinitely more knowledgeable about magic than her. She couldn’t let him keep it, though. So, she stepped forward, looking down at herself with the appropriate amount of disgust on her face. Voldemort’s long, wide robe fell around “Hermione”. She hoped Snape wouldn’t see how her hand flashed to her pocket and snatched back her own wand, and she was fortunate enough that the action seemed to be obscure enough, for he didn’t comment on it.  
  
“You dare take my wand, Mudblood?” she snarled, putting her wand secretively in one of Voldemort’s pockets while keeping his firmly in her hand. “You shall be punished for such insolence.”  
  
She stepped back, looking at the other two Death Eaters. She thought they were the Lestrange brothers, recognising them from the photographs that had been in the Daily Prophet, but she wasn’t sure who was who. They were helping the Death Eater who had been cursed. She had no idea who that one was. She would have to tread carefully in order not to be found out.  
  
“I can torture her for hours, my Lord,” Bellatrix purred, her wand already in her hand.  
  
“That won’t be needed,” Hermione said. She wasn’t a hundred percent certain how Voldemort talked to his followers, but from what little she had heard, she took him for one of those snobby talkers who loved the sound of his own voice. “I will deal with her myself … later. Snape, lock her up. Keep her gagged.”  
  
“My pleasure, my Lord,” Snape said, smirking. “I’ve wanted to do that for years. She never shuts up, ever.”  
  
The Lestrange brothers laughed, while Voldemort gave everyone a murderous glare and tried to struggle free. Snape took a harder grip of him and started to drag him out.  
  
“Help him,” Hermione ordered to one of the Lestrange brothers with a gesture.  
  
“And you, take him out of here,” she ordered the other brother, pointing at the Death Eater who was coming around from the curse. She wanted as many of them gone from this room before they would notice something that would tell them that she wasn’t Lord Voldemort.  
  
“My Lord,” Bellatrix whined. “I don’t understand. What was the Mudblood doing in here?”  
  
“I have my reasons,” Hermione answered, figuring that if Voldemort hadn’t told anyone he was switching bodies with her, he was secretive in general. “Why did all of you come here?”  
  
“Oh, we have wonderful news!” Bellatrix replied, not looking surprised at not being given a reason. “Harry Potter is dead!”  
  
Hermione felt a small stab in her heart. But yet again, she found herself not as upset as she ought to be. Oh, well, she couldn’t be bothered about that right now. “I’m well aware of that, Bellatrix. I’ve made it happen. Still, it is wonderful news indeed. Er ... we will have to celebrate that.”  _That would be appropriate, right?_  
  
Bellatrix pressed her body against his. “Why don’t we start right now, my Lord?”  
  
 _Oh Godric, no! You’ve got to be kidding me!_  
  
Hermione stiffened before she pushed Lestrange away. “I don’t have time for that … now. We still have so much to accomplish. We need to start ... planning this celebration, first. Where do you think is appropriate?”  
  
She had no idea where she was, but from the look of the interior of the room, it was somewhere luxurious. Surely they would have some grand hall?  
  
Bellatrix seemed disappointed to be let down, but she didn’t push it. “I’ll have to ask Narcissa.”  
  
Narcissa. As in Malfoy? Were they in Malfoy Manor? “We will both go and see her,” Hermione said. That would give her a chance to find her away around the house. “Where is she now?”  
  
Bellatrix seemed more and more confused by her supposed master. However, she clearly feared him enough not to question him. They left the room together, and Hermione made a mental map of where she was going and what the corridors and stairs looked like.  
  
Finally, they reached a large balcony where both Narcissa and Lucius sat. She was reading the Daily Prophet, and he seemed to be going through some correspondence. When they saw “Voldemort”, they both flew up and bowed. Hermione was amazed by what power Voldemort’s mere presence had. Already, she had a plan spinning in her head.  
  
“I’m planning a celebration for tonight, for Potter,” Hermione told them, assuming they’d heard about Harry’s death already. “What will be the most suitable place to gather  _all_  the Death Eaters?”  
  
Narcissa rose, not looking all that happy to be in the Dark Lord’s presence. “If you expect all of them, we have to take it out in the garden, my Lord. No room of ours will be big enough to fit everyone. Fortunately, it’s a lovely day.”  
  
Since Hermione didn’t plan to actually throw a celebration, she nodded, “Excellent idea. Before that, Lucius, a word in private. Bellatrix, help your sister with the planning.”  
  
“My Lord?” Lucius asked as they walked into a study close to the balcony.  
  
“I need you to bring a letter to Kingsley Shacklebolt. Do you know who that is?”  
  
“Yes, the Auror assigned to protect the Muggle Prime Minister. But how will I approach him, my Lord? They know I’m a Death Eater.”  
  
Hermione smiled. It looked suitably vicious on Voldemort’s snake-like face. “That’s your problem, Lucius, but I will need you to take the letter to him in person. Don’t give it to anyone but him, and do not fail me. Do you understand?”  
  
Lucius swallowed nervously. “Yes, of course, my Lord.”  
  
“Excellent. Wait here while I write it.”  
  
Hermione went over to the desk at the other side of the room and grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill. Quickly, she wrote:  
  
 _For the Order of the Phoenix and the Aurors,_  
  
 _Today is your lucky day. The man bringing you this letter is Lucius Malfoy, most likely in some kind of disguise. As you’re well aware, he is a Death Eater. Arrest him. Later today, at 8 pm precisely, I’ll send every single follower of Lord Voldemort to Finnegan’s Cliff in Wales. Make sure you have enough people there to take them in and wards in place that will disarm them upon appearing._  
  
 _P.S. Dumbledore’s real favourite treat was vanilla ice cream._  
  
She rolled the scroll together and sealed it with the spell Order members used. The “P.S.” was a secret line, identifying Order members to each other if they couldn’t in any other way. It was something that had been developed after Snape had betrayed them.  
  
Walking back to Malfoy again, she handed him the scroll. “Make sure no one but Shacklebolt reads the contents of this scroll. If you fail me, every single member of your household will be made to pay and you will be happy you had just one child for me to curse into insanity.”  
  
The threat was quite extreme, but Lucius didn’t seem surprised by it, only scared.  
  
“I will never fail you, my Lord,” he said weakly.  
  
“Good. Deliver it at once.”  
  
Lucius bowed and Disapparated. Hermione took a deep breath and sank down into one of the chairs. Now, she already had a reason to give to the Death Eaters to go to Finnegan’s Cliff. It was an ancient wizarding site nearby the sea. Muggles were completely unaware of its existence and large bonfires were held there in the past on important wizarding holidays. Nowadays, it was mostly unused. Finnegan’s Cliff was a place filled with memories of old magic, a site that Hermione figured would be suitable for Lord Voldemort to choose as a place for festivities. After all, these types of things were extremely important to these bigots who despised anything Muggle. If everything went according to plan, it would be easy for the Order and Aurors to secure it and arrest every single Death Eater without any collateral damage.  
  
She would have to round up all the Death Eaters and all his other followers in this place first, though. Not everyone had a Dark Mark, and even those who did, well, it wouldn’t exactly work for her … or would it? She did have his body and she knew how the Protean Charm worked. However, she’d rather not try it out and fail spectacularly. She’d seen how his wand had failed to work properly for him in her body and he was a lot more adept at magic than she was. Even though she would be casting with the wand that fitted the body, Hermione really didn’t want to take a chance if it could be avoided somehow.  
  
Besides, there were much bigger problems than how to round up all his followers. That probably could be easily delegated. No, she was far more concerned with how she had to find out how many of them existed and where they were without raising suspicions. Surely, Voldemort was expected to know such things?  
  
And she didn’t have time to walk around the huge house and knock on every door to find someone suitably weak enough that she could force them into giving up this information. She had seen half a dozen corridors on her way down here. It was really a ridiculously big house, especially for just three persons. Did they even know what to do with half of the rooms? Merlin, it must take forever to clean—  
  
House-elves!  
  
Wizards were always underestimating house-elves, but now, they were exactly what she needed to bring Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters down. Oh, the irony.  
  
“House-elf?” she tried saying out loud.  
  
Immediately, a small creature in a worn and grey pillow case popped up. The house-elf was trembling as it threw itself down on the floor with a bow. “Master called?”  
  
It sounded like a male house-elf.  
  
Hermione wanted to tell the house-elf that there was no need to do that, but she decided against it. If someone walked in on them, it would be hard to explain why Lord Voldemort was comforting a house-elf. “How many people live in this manor?”  
  
“Twenty-six, Master,” the house-elf answered in a shrill voice, still lying bent over on the floor.  
  
“And how many are here right now?” she asked.  
  
“Twenty, Master.”  
  
It was heart-breaking to see a creature so scared. Yet, Hermione noted that she didn’t feel as much empathy as she usually did. It most likely came from being in Voldemort’s body. She could see no other explanation for it. The thought scared her. She would have to return to her own body soon. What if she got accustomed to this?  
  
“Do you know everyone who is in the inner circle?” Hermione asked.  
  
The house-elf trembled like crazy. “Yes, Master. But Caco will never reveal it! Caco is loyal!”  
  
Hermione leaned back in the chair and clasped Voldemort’s pale, long hands together. “I want you to tell me everything you know. The names of the ones in the inner circle, who is in charge of what, and so on. If you are completely honest and tell me everything, your life will be spared.”  
  
“Oh, thank you, Master! Caco will tell  _only_  Master!”  
  
The house-elf seemed too relieved not to be harmed that he launched into a long explanation of everything he knew about the Death Eaters and all of Lord Voldemort’s other followers and operations. It was quite a substantial amount of information, and Hermione was sure that if Lord Voldemort had been here himself, Caco would’ve been dead the second he’d stopped talking.  
  
The talk went on for hours. Several times, Hermione asked Caco to specify himself. When Caco was finally done, she asked the house-elf one final question.  
  
“How do I usually gather all my followers?” she asked.  
  
“Master Pettigrew calls them for you, Master,” the house-elf replied.  
  
Hermione grimaced. She would rather not see that man at all. “Bring him to me.”  
  
She didn’t have to wait long until Pettigrew arrived, dragged forth by the house-elf. “Caco, brought Master to Master. Caco done well?”  
  
“That’ll be all, C— elf,” Hermione said, correcting herself quickly. She very much doubted Lord Voldemort would respect the house-elves enough to call them by their given name.  
  
She stared at the kneeling man before her. Peter Pettigrew looked as she remembered him, apart from his right hand, which had been replaced with one in silver. Just like the house-elf, he wouldn’t meet her eyes and kept his head bowed. Hermione didn’t mind.  
  
“I will have a gathering to celebrate Potter’s death. Gather  _everyone_  in the garden. I want them  _all_  there as soon as possible. Today, we shall triumph over those who opposed us,” Hermione said coldly.  
  
Pettigrew bowed clumsy. “Right away, my Lord.”  
  
Once he had left, Hermione rose. She would need to look and sound like the real Voldemort once she got in front of all his followers. So far, everyone seemed to fear him enough not to question her. However, she knew that there had to be some Death Eaters who weren’t stupid. If she began to stutter while speaking, someone would definitely know something was up. She needed to practise in front of a mirror.  
  
Next to study she was currently in, there was a bathroom, and Hermione locked herself into it. Like the rest of this house, it was too big. Thankfully, it had a huge mirror. Stepping in front of it, she had to bite back a surprised shriek.  
  
She looked absolutely horrifying. Tall and pale, with crimson eyes, she looked like something out of a nightmare. She let her abnormally long fingers stroke the bald skull. The skin was smooth but surprisingly warm. To take away the cold, evil look on the face, she grimaced. She needed to know she was still in there. Opening the mouth wide and closing one eye while making the other as big as she could and then pulling out her tongue changed the expression completely. It made her laugh quietly. She doubted Lord Voldemort ever allowed himself to look this silly on purpose.  
  
However, it helped to know that she was in control of the body. She could see this as playing a part. Actors did it all the time. She had read about it. It was important to feel what the character was feeling. Being inside Voldemort’s body helped with that.  
  
She recalled everything she had ever heard or read about Voldemort, everything Harry had ever told her and how she’d seen him act inside her body. The most important thing was that he thought himself better than everyone else. Well, that wasn’t too hard to fake.  _She_ felt like she was better than every Death Eater out there. They were cowards and stupid, following a lunatic for an ideology which was just plain illogical. How could she not be better than that?  
  
She stopped making funny faces and started to practise his blank stares. He had stared a lot at her when he’d talked to her. And she knew he did it to everyone he talked to. It made them feel as if he were reading every single one of their thoughts. Hermione couldn’t do Legilimency, but she would do her best to pretend like she could. She should be able to fake it convincingly now that she knew everything about the Death Eaters. Caco the house-elf had told her enough. Sure, she didn’t know which names went with all of their respective faces, but she knew the most important ones. Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to single anyone out whom she didn’t know.  
  
Shouldn’t she be nervous right now about this? Every time she had to talk to a crowd, she got butterflies in her stomach. Now, she didn’t have any at all. Another advantage of being inside Voldemort’s body, it would seem.  
  
For a long time, she practised the speech she was going to give out loud until she was completely satisfied she had it memorised and could perform it perfectly. She wasn’t going to say much. The less she said, the less likely she’d make an error. She’d planned to do it in a way that the others would think that the “real speech” would be held at Finnegan’s Cliff.  
  
She also practised magic with both wands that she had. As she had thought, her own wand proved to be severely problematic to cast with. She couldn’t understand how Voldemort had even been able to cast one spell properly with _his_  wand while in  _her_  body. She couldn’t do it the other way around at all. Fortunately, she had better results with his wand. She was able to perform magic up to her normal standards, and she assumed it would get better the longer she was in his body. The power he had, the power she could feel surge through her fingertips now, it was intoxicating.  
  
Not that she planned to stay in this body for long. No, she wanted out of this body as soon as possible. Yes, definitely. She wanted her own body back and be herself again.  
  
Well, it seemed to be about time to leave. She was a bit on the late side but presumed that would be the proper protocol. Besides, she doubted anyone would dare to scold Lord Voldemort for being tardy and making them all wait. Hermione left the bathroom. It took her a while to find her way to the garden, but after a few wrong turns, she made it there.  
  
Already everyone was gathered there, or so she assumed because the crowd was huge. When they saw their master, they bowed immediately, muttering praises underneath their breaths. Hermione ignored them. She was better than they were; she didn’t need to acknowledge them.  
  
Spotting Snape, she walked over to him.  
  
“My Lord,” Snape said, only bowing his head.  
  
“Pro—Severus, where did you put the Mudblood?” she asked coldly.  
  
 _Merlin, I almost screwed it up on the first go._  
  
Snape’s lip curled up ever so slightly for a flash, but his face was composed again before she’d spotted it.  
  
Hermione felt a strange urge to wipe out her wand and kill the man on the spot for killing Professor Dumbledore. But she controlled herself, he would be arrested with the others and face the Wizengamot for that crime in due time.  
  
“In the dungeons. I gave her a cell of her own instead of putting her with the other prisoners,” Snape said evenly.  
  
Right, there would be other prisoners there. She hadn’t thought of that. Good thing he’d not put “Hermione Granger” with them. They would’ve undoubtedly uncuffed her, and then... all hell would’ve broken loose. She wasn’t foolish enough to underestimate Voldemort as he did with his enemies. No, she didn’t. She was better than him.  
  
After she’d sent the Death Eaters away, she would have to free the other prisoners, though. Hopefully, she would find her way down there. Considering how much trouble she’d had in finding the garden, she wasn’t that optimistic about knowing her way around this huge manor anymore. Oh! She could ask Caco!  
  
“Excellent,” she told Snape and then simply walked away.  
  
Since she didn’t want to socialise with anyone else, she went straight to the podium that Narcissa or Bellatrix had created for their master. Most likely Bellatrix if the sycophantic throne that was placed in the centre was any indication. Hermione somehow doubted that was Narcissa’s style.  
  
Still, she wasn’t planning to use it. She’d practised her speech standing up. If she sat down, she’d have no idea what to do with her body, especially her hands. She was used to gesturing wildly herself. That’s why she’d decided to clasp them behind her back to avoid making that error.  
  
Calmly, Hermione strode up the steps from the podium and made her way to the centre in front of the ridiculous throne. Her eyes slowly glided over the crowd, taking in all those people. There were so many of them! How could all these people be so stupid into following this maniac? She wanted to torture every single one of them for everything they’d done and were planning to do. The thought made her whole body tingle with pleasure and she itched to draw her wand. Strengthening the grip she had on her own fingers, she held her hands firmly behind her back. She was in this body for too long if she began feeling like this and forgot how dangerous such an act would be. His arrogance clearly was contagious.  
  
“Today is a glorious day,” Hermione said. It didn’t take much strength to make Voldemort’s voice heard. His mere presence demanded so much silence that a mere whisper would’ve carried on for miles. “Harry Potter is finally dead!”  
  
Loud cheers greeted that statement, and Hermione had to once again bite back the urge to start killing people. However, she merely waited, standing still while allowing her eyes to move over the crowd until they’d silenced.  
  
“I’ve prepared a feast of celebration on Finnegan’s Cliff. You will Apparate there now! It will be a feast worthy of the most ancient wizarding traditions—” This led to a few more cheers since ancient wizarding traditions entailed loads of liquor and debauchery, until those who’d interrupted him had been shushed by their colleagues. Calmly, Hermione continued, “Our kind will remember it for centuries. Enjoy.”  
  
She was cheered on again before the Death Eaters quickly Disapparated one after the other—eager to get to this wild feast their master had promised them. It didn’t take long before the whole garden was empty. Severus Snape had been the last one to Disapparate after giving her an almost indiscernible nod. A victorious grin spread over her face. Oh, that had been  _soooo_  easy.  
  
She waited a few more minutes with Voldemort’s wand at the ready, just in case some of the Death Eaters had managed to escape and came back here. But no one came.  
  
Practically skipping, she called for Caco again and ordered him to take her down to the dungeons. Once they’d got there, she told Caco, “You will use your house-elf magic to transport every prisoner, except Hermione Granger, to St. Mungo’s. After that, you’ll check to see what has happened at Finnegan’s Cliff.”  
  
Once again, the house-elf was too scared, or too eager to please, to question what must have been a strange order. He just bowed and, with a pop, he was gone. Hermione waited for several minutes in the corridor, and then, there was a small pop announcing the arrival of a severely nervous house-elf, who was wriggling with his fingers. A broad smile grew on the snake-like face as the house-elf stuttered that all of Lord Voldemort’s followers had been apprehended.  
  
“Thank you, Caco. Here,” Hermione said, holding out the sock she’d summoned as she’d waited for Caco’s return, “you’re now a free elf. If you don’t know what to do, go to Dobby at Hogwarts. I’m sure he’ll help you.”  
  
Shaking, Caco took the sock. “Master not pleased with Caco,” he whispered, holding his head down sadly. “Caco disappointed Master. Caco must iron—”  
  
“No,” Hermione said sharply. It sounded harsher coming from Voldemort’s voice than she’d intended, but that couldn’t be helped. “Master is very pleased with Caco. Caco, you will not punish yourself. You’ve been a good house-elf and Professor McGonagall will be pleased to have you at Hogwarts. Just ask for Dobby and tell him, er … tell him—tell him that those Muggles deserved to have their kitchen covered in pudding. He’ll know what that means.”  
  
After Caco had left, Hermione opened the door to Voldemort’s cell and stepped inside with a big grin on her— _his_  face.  
  
“Hello again,” Hermione said and undid the spell that kept him silent with his wand.  
  
Her own face stared back at her with hatred. “You’ll regret this, Mudblood. You think you can imprison me? I’m Lord Voldemort! I’ll make you rue the day you were born.”  
  
“Yes, I’m sure,” Hermione replied, sounding bored. “But before you do that, don’t you want to know what I’ve been up to?”  
  
“Nothing I can’t undo,” Voldemort spat.  
  
Hermione noticed that he was sitting with her hands pressed against her stomach. Perhaps she should have brought a pain-relieving potion? She wanted to have her body back, but she did not look forward to experiencing its period pains again. She should have asked the house-elf for that before she set him free. Maybe she should wait a couple of days before making the change. It was rather …  _enjoyable_  to see Lord Voldemort suffer.  
  
That thought alone sobered her up. She’d been in this body for far too long. They needed to switch now or she’d run the risk of becoming just like him. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to make him a tad more miserable.  
  
“I just sent all your Death Eaters into the hands of the Aurors,” Hermione said, chipper.  
  
“Impossible,” Voldemort said, but there was doubt in his eyes. Doubt, and just a little hint of fear.  
  
“Well, what can I say, you had them all so scared of you that no one dared to question me when I told them to go right into a trap. They all have been arrested by now.”  
  
“I can break them out again,” Voldemort growled. “They are not dead, like your friend Potter.”  
  
“Crucio!” Hermione cast, watching satisfied how he thrashed on the floor while screaming his lungs out. Too bad he was bound; otherwise it would’ve been an even more pleasurable show. She raised her wand to untie him when she suddenly realised what she was about to do.  
  
Merlin, his arrogance would become the death of her!  
  
Hermione dropped the Cruciatus Curse. She needed to get her own body back and preferably before she made it impossible to function properly. Luckily, the Cruciatus Curse left no lasting damage.  
  
“No, you’re not going to break them out,” Hermione said, watching how he was panting heavily. “I don’t think you’ll do much of anything in the future that could harm anyone.” She came closer and crouched in front of him. “You see, if you want this pain-free and … ‘healthy’ body back, you’ll have to take a couple of vows.”  
  
A glint of ill will lit his eyes. “Then, I don’t think I’ll want that body back.”  
  
Hermione frowned. “Oh, so you have got over the period pain? Don’t worry, that will return next month. Not to mention the PMS headaches, the aching back and another few annoying things.”  
  
“Do you think a little bit of pain can stop me, Granger?” Voldemort asked, looking more and more smug and arrogant. “Your body is young and powerful. Do you have any idea what I can do with it, given time? Perhaps it’s time for a Dark Lady instead of a Dark Lord?”  
  
“You are still my prisoner,” Hermione reminded, feeling uncertainty creep up.  
  
“Not for long. You said all Death Eaters have been captured? That means the Malfoys, too. It won’t take long before the Aurors are swarming this place. What do you think they will say when they find Harry Potter’s best friend here? It won’t be hard for  _me_  to convince them that you forced me to kill him. Then, I’ll be safe and you’ll be on the run.” An unpleasant smile formed on his (no, hers!) face. “Yes, I think I like that idea more and more. I’ll just stay down here and wait.”  
  
Hermione pressed his wand against her body’s shoulder. “Do you think I’ll just let you get away with my body? Just like that?”  
  
Voldemort looked at the wand, seemingly unimpressed. “Hurting your body with the Cruciatus Curse is one thing, but to damage it permanently? I have a hard time believing that you’ll do that,” he said.  
  
Hermione gritted her teeth together in anger. That was exactly the same reason she’d used to stop him from hurting her earlier.  
  
“They will never fall for it!” Hermione spat. “I’ll tell them that you switched our bodies.”  
  
“But switching bodies is impossible,” Voldemort snickered. “Surely, you know that. And I think they will fall for it. After all,  _I_ am a much better actor, no, _actress_ , than you.”  
  
“You were,” Hermione said, smiling triumphantly. “But I’m not.”  
  
“So?  _I_  am in your body,” Voldemort said, shrugging.  
  
“Exactly,” she replied. “You’re in my body, with all its capabilities of feeling emotions and empathy and sorry for other people. Oh my, soon you’ll start supporting house-elf rights and sacrifice yourself to do what’s best for others.”  
  
That seemed to touch a nerve. Unease spread all over “Hermione’s” face. It was odd to look at yourself and see another, but Hermione supposed that wouldn’t be for long now. He’d never allow himself to be so disgustingly weak. Ugh … emotions made you take wrong decisions all the time, like how she’d fallen for Ron Weasley and let him hurt her. Despicable.  
  
“Well?” Hermione asked, daring him.  
  
Why was he looking so contemplatively at her? Merlin, her face was really annoying.  
  
“No,” Voldemort said in a bossy tone of voice, “I think you will like my body far less than I enjoy yours. If you want to switch, there will not be any conditions. Remember, I’m the only one who knows how to perform the counter-charm and … the only one who can.”  
  
“Then, there won’t be a switch,” Hermione threatened, crossing her arms in front of her chest.  
  
Stubbornly, they both looked at each other when suddenly there was a loud crash outside Malfoy Manor.  
  
“The wards, ‘my Lord’,” Voldemort said mockingly to Hermione. “What are you going to do now?”  
  
Several months later, he wished he’d never asked as “Lord Voldemort” was cooking some disgusting weeds on top of a campfire while “Hermione Granger” was tied to a bunk inside the tent. Fugitives of the wizarding world, they would be camping for the rest of their lives!  
  
xxx

 


End file.
